


Two Four-Letter Words

by brofluvski, reginamoeba



Category: South Park
Genre: (more like love squares), Aged-Up Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fist Fights, Foreplay, High School, Jealousy, Kyman - Freeform, Love Triangles, M/M, Mirror Universe, Mirror Verse Kyman, Mutual Pining, love square
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-04-07 00:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brofluvski/pseuds/brofluvski, https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginamoeba/pseuds/reginamoeba
Summary: There are two big things keeping Kyle Broflovski and Eric Cartman apart: Kyle's reluctance to give into any possible feelings he might have for Cartman, paired with Cartman's obnoxious sense of humour and inconsiderate attitude.But on the other side of the mirror, kind-hearted and compassionate Eric Cartman is going through a break-up with his less than kind-hearted boyfriend:Kyle Broflovski.Fed-up with Kyle's consistently inconsistent affection, he finds himself in a fit of rage and by chance, a portal to the flipped side of his world, where Kyle isn't a cold-hearted killer...but a considerate, morally-motivated and equally handsome version of his not-so-considerate (ex)-boyfriend. And he's not hard to fall for, either...The only question that remains, is just how far are all four are willing to go for love.





	1. One Side of a Two-Sided Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in the works for months! Excited to finally post it.

In eighth grade, Kenny lit a firework in his room, and they never bothered to fix the white patch of drywall. Now, four years later, Eric Cartman lay on his bed, glaring at the chip in the purple paint on the ceiling like it had eaten the last Oreo in the house.

His suitcase sat packed by the door with enough clothing for the week. His mother had insisted he bring his “nice” sweater as if he gave enough of a fuck to dress up for Uncle Howard’s funeral. He huffed, cursing the state of Nebraska and every member of his family that lived in the most uneventful corner of America.

_“You look just like your Uncle Howard”._ That’s what they’d say on Christmas before Uncle Howard got arrested at least.

Stupid fucking asshole.

The constant stream of uncouth phrases running through his brain was interrupted by the tune of “One Way or Another” by Blondie. He brushed off the jump that his heart made and slid his finger across the answer button. He was typically the one to call the “Jinger Joo” first, but today served as an exception. Today, _Kyle_ called _him!_ Cartman flopped back onto his bed, grinning at his small victory as he spoke, “What’s up, jackass?”

He responded in his trademark nasal tonality “Come down to the basketball courts. I’m so fucking bored.”

_Pause. Hold back. Make him wait for it._

“What if I’m busy?”

“I know you’re not fucking busy. You picked up after one ring. Besides, Stan is off volunteering and Kenny has work all day.”

“Glad to know I was your first choice.”

“If it helps, Butters was next on the list.”

“No, that doesn’t fucking help!”

Kyle groaned through the phone.

“What else are you going to do today?”

“I don’t know. I’m a seventeen-year-old boy cooped up in my room all day with the whole wide world of internet at my fingertips. I’m sure I could think of something.”

He knew Kyle was pinching the bridge of his nose on the other end of the call.

“Ugh, Cartman. Whatever, I’ll just ball alone.”

“Wait! Okay! Fine! I’m coming. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Cartman snapped, holding the phone to his ear as he fished around his drawers for a clean pair of shorts.

“See you in a bit.” Kyle hung up as Cartman practically tripped, one leg through the shorts. It was always like this with Kyle. Somehow their childhood bickering had morphed slowly into some sort of an agreement, something akin to a true friendship, albeit less civil.

 

* * *

 

Cartman made it to the park a few minutes later, heart beating fast, breathing hard from his short jog over. As he leaned down to catch his breath, panting a bit, he caught sight of the other teen going in for a layup. The plus-sized teen couldn’t help but take notice of Kyle’s form bounding across the court, his ginger curls free from their green prison for once, bouncing with each step taken by those toned calf muscles. Kyle licked his lip in concentration as a bead of sweat from his brow dripped down, propelling his lean form towards the basket as he sunk the ball in effortlessly.

“Not half bad,” Cartman said smugly, approaching with confidence inconsistent with that of his unceremonious arrival.

“Took you long enough,” Kyle laughed, passing Cartman the ball. “Down for some one-on-one?”

“You’re going down beanpole,” Cartman declared, dribbling the ball experimentally on the pavement of the court.

“Timely _and_ humble! Show me what you got,” Kyle urged him on, lunging in an attempt to steal the ball from Cartman’s possession. Cartman dribbled across the court, defensively keeping the ball close to his body, Kyle on his tail.

“Check this out”, Cartman goaded, performing what he thought would look like a pretty sick turn shot, twirling around Kyle and going for a layup. Kyle rammed himself into Cartman’s gut boxing him out for the rebound once the ball left his hands. Cartman was impressed, Kyle’s wiry frame was successfully shoving Cartman back despite Cartman’s resistance. The ball bounced off of the backboard, nowhere close to making it in, and ricocheted to the other side of the court. Kyle made a break for it and in mere seconds had made a 3-pointer.

“Show-off…”, Cartman mocked, taking the ball back to the top to reset it, “Mine almost went in”.

“False!” Kyle retorted, getting in a low, defensive stance, wingspan extended to steal the ball at his first opportunity.

As they ran and dribbled and defended, Cartman found himself getting slowly out of his own head, Hurricane Howard had abated for a moment. All he could think about was Kyle: beating Kyle, stealing the ball from Kyle, _Kyle when he wipes his brow with his shirt and a bit of his torso peeks up and… Not the time for that. Just be happy with your friend. Your FRIEND._

Cartman stopped himself for a moment to shake the unwanted thought and Kyle scored an easy layup in the time.

“Getting tired already?” Kyle questioned, passing Cartman the ball once more.

“Hah, as if,” Cartman grabbed the ball from Kyle’s hands, refusing to meet his eyes, as he headed to the top of the court.

The score was 11-3, in Kyle’s benefit by the time the sun threatened to disappear entirely behind the Colorado peaks, leaving the sky bathed in pinks that rivalled Cartman’s flushed cheeks. They collapsed on the cool concrete, both exhausted by the afternoon’s activities.

“I was just getting started, Kyle. Next time I’m totally gonna kick your ass”, Cartman said between heavy breaths.

“Bullshit. I’m bi-varsity, dude” Kyle scoffed, breathing the same, putting his arms behind his head. He had put his ushanka back on but he kept reaching under it to adjust his crimson curls, stuck together and somewhat matted with sweat: a nervous tic he never grew out of. Cartman watched his calloused fingers tug at the curls, stretching them to straightness and releasing them to coil and bounce back under the green. The town had stopped asking about Kyle’s relentless insistence on donning the green abomination 365 days out of the year; it was his trademark. Just like Kenny’s orange parka that grew a few inches smaller and a few patches greater every year.

Kyle noticed Cartman’s eyes following his hand like a cat to a laser pointer and halted, drawing Cartman out of his trance-like stare.

“What?” Kyle narrowed his eyes, finely attuned to Cartman’s scheming and surprisingly quick mind. Kyle tried to discern Cartman’s next move from the flecks of deep blue in his eyes, but they merely glinted with mischief. Kyle hated to admit it, but Cartman was smart. Like, really fucking smart. All his childhood manipulations and grand plans became bold business ventures and schemes that yielded results. His _methods_ weren’t Kyle’s favorite but that didn’t stop him from getting tied up in Cartman’s plans every time. In 9th grade, Cartman ran a Community Service club that utilized more school funds that the net money spent by clubs in South Park High’s history. Kyle ended up as the treasurer of the club by Christmas. He’s surprised they never got called out for what Kyle is pretty sure was embezzlement.

“Nothing, just thinking about how I’m gonna win next time,” Cartman smirked. Kyle liked a challenge, and even though he knew he would probably win their next game, he was always down to show off his skills.

“Fine,” Kyle accepted, “Tomorrow, rematch.” He stuck out his hand, as he moved to stand.

Cartman took it; gripped Kyle’s hand like the two were facing off for the presidential race. “You’re on. Don’t be surprised when I beat you.”

“Ha! Right back at you, KFC. Ugh, your hands are sweaty.”

“So? Yours are too, Kyle! If anything I am no more than 49% responsible for the sweat occurring here.”

“I’m the 51%? Unbelievable.”

“You’re like a salami outside.”

“What?”

“Sweaty. And you smell kinda bad.”

“Hey!” Kyle shoved Cartman and Cartman shoved right back. Bickering until they found a tacit conclusion to the debate.

The two walked the five minutes to their homes in silence, feeling relaxed and calm in the summer mountain air, the potential of the months ahead potent in the back of their heads.

Meanwhile, another Kyle and another Eric were walking home just the same. The four, parallel, untouching, or so they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bless up it's finally summer. If Lai were Ariana, I'd be the one who taught her patience and kyle would be the one that taught her love.  
>  **Sail**
> 
> ♡♡♡
> 
> kyle taught me love. sail taught me patience. beta-ing this fic in a full set of acrylics nails taught me pain.  
>  _lai._


	2. The Regular-Verse & Mirror-Verse, Respectively

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two sides to every story and two sides of every mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so this chapter is a LITTLE bit longer than the first

Late summer and the soft hum of crickets filled the air as the sun set behind high mountain peaks. On the other side of the mirror, Eric Cartman was perched up in his bedroom, fluffing pillows and flipping through his Spotify, searching for a playlist of that Kyle didn’t totally hate. He was coming over that night. He came over almost _every_ night. It was ritualistic.

In the summer, there was a lot more free time as they were out of school (not that Kyle ever really _cared_ about class, but Eric did), so Kyle and co. were out and about a lot more frequently. That particular evening, Kyle had nothing planned but a family social and seeing as the Broflovski clan _hated_ Eric, he’d stayed home and awaited Kyle’s arrival. It didn’t matter that they’d hit their sixth year anniversary a month ago. Kyle still made his heart crawl up into his throat. It was an unconditional feeling.

Kyle knocked on his window. Eric turned his head, eyes widening. Kyle’s silhouette was illuminated by the setting sun, and he was a vision if ever. The ushanka tugged over his untameable hair, gun slung around his waist and cigarette pinched between his teeth. Every single thing about his boyfriend was so distinct. He knew Kyle Broflovski like the back of his hand.

Eric made his way over to the window, tugging it open so Kyle could slide through. Eric had too often begged him to use the front door, but Kyle preferred climbing the tree up to his roof. He was a big fan of discretion.

“Hey, chubby,” he grinned, jumping down to the floor. Eric had set out a rug for Kyle’s boots, which he ignored anyway.

“Hey,” Eric blushed, rubbing his hands together. “I thought you’d be over sooner…”

“I would have,” Kyle ashed his cigarette onto Eric’s nightside stand. “But Rebecca Cotswold was hounding me.”

Eric hated when Kyle mentioned girls. _Hated_ it. He hated getting jealous...it felt wrong. And it felt unfair. “You didn’t do anything with her, did you?”

“Fuck no,” he sneered. “She’s probably got like five STIs.”

“And we’re in a relationship.”

“That too.”

On this side of the mirror, everything was different. Everything was different, but one and the same; everyone was flipped around and inside out. The version of themselves that lived beyond a mirror and extracted their innermost characteristics and put them all at the forefront. They looked exactly the same, but everything was different.

See, this wasn’t the quaint little mountain town that South Park was on the other side of the mirror. This was a wasteland. This South Park was dirty and greasy and rough beyond the edges. This South Park was a dog-eat-dog world. Kill or be killed, and Kyle was a killer, all around.

Killer good looks? Check.

Killer charisma? Check.

Actual murderer? _Also,_ check.

But that’s just the way it was. He wielded a gun and a knife and kept the others in check. He had to. _Most_ had to, or you’d be dead by third grade. Kyle’s family was rich and heavily involved in the illicit drug and weaponry trade they maintained in Buttfuck-Nowhere, Colorado. It was easy to get away with grow-ops when you lived in the mountains and the trade had become notorious in South Park. Kyle, Stan and Kenny carried weapons, everywhere they went. Eric did too, but only a knife and only at Kyle’s demand.

And Kyle...Kyle and Cartman. Kyle and _Eric._ Perhaps they were the most shocking couple in town. No one was particularly loyal to each other in a town like South Park, but Kyle Broflovski and Eric Cartman had been together since they were _children._ Kyle wore a pendant around his neck, decked out with a symbolic “E” scribbled across its cool, blue exterior. Something he’d worn and carried around with him, even before he and Eric’s lips had first connected. It was set in stone.

But Eric hated when Kyle played games. He wanted commitment and sometimes he worried Kyle _lacked_ true commitment, even with that pendant around his neck. It scared Eric and brought out a side of himself he was uncomfortable with.

“Hey, don’t look so blue, baby,” Kyle snickered. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Wish you’d come sooner, though…”

Kyle kicked off his boots, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He positioned himself in that familiar setting, up against Eric’s headboard. Smoke clouded around his face and when it wafted away, Eric could finally see his features in detail again. Sharp nose and jaw, cheeks dotted with faint freckles, piercing green eyes and distinctive brows, stuck in an eternal scowl. His hair was unruly; characterized by curls and waves that hung in his eyes. He was a few inches taller than Eric, lean and toned and _strong._ Kyle was the carelessly good-looking type and still made Eric’s heart flutter, six years later. He knew all too well that Kyle could and would hurt his feelings, but he’d rather be with him than without him.

“You want something?” Kyle murmured. He tossed his cigarette into the tray, reaching into his back pocket for another.

“Huh?”

“You’re staring,” he shrugged. Eric had lit a few candles around the room in an attempt to set a _romantic_ mood. Kyle held his fresh cigarette over the candle on his nightstand and brought the filter up to his mouth. “Can’t do anything with you from all the way over here.”

“Sorry,” Eric hesitated. “You’re just...really _handsome,_ tonight.”

“Aw...that’s sweet of you, baby,” Kyle sneered, patting his lap. “Get your fat ass over here.”

He was so mean. He disregarded Eric’s feelings so often; he _hated_ when Kyle commented on his weight. He used to accept it as Kyle’s twisted form of affection, but the older they got, the less tolerant he came of it.

And then made his way over to Kyle regardless.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Eric smiled, parting his legs over Kyle’s thighs. “I have the whole evening planned out for us.”

“What’s the occasion?” Kyle raised a brow. Smoke clung around his face. Eric had spent the last few years becoming a second-hand smoker.

“Full moon,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around Kyle’s neck. “Do we need an occasion?”

“Nah,” Kyle muttered. “What are we doing then?”

Eric smiled. “You’ll see…”

“Don’t tell me you have some gayass charity bullshit planned for tonight, or I’m out.”

“Why would you say _that?”_

“I’d take Rebecca Cotswold and her five STIs over another one of Cartman’s gayward fundraisers.”

_“Kyle.”_

“Fine,” he sneered. “I’m listening.”

“I rented us a movie…” Eric mumbled shyly. “And made dinner...so I thought we could, I don’t know...just relax tonight.”

“You _rented_ a movie?” Kyle’s eyes danced with excitement. Eric loved it when he was happy. He hadn’t expected Kyle to be so excited over dinner and a movie. He was rarely excited about anything unless it involved sex or violence. Sometimes both.

“Yeah,” he giggled “Why?”

“Hang on, I gotta text Stan,” he laughed. “God, Cartman, you’re such a fucking sucker.”

He frowned. He _didn’t_ love it when Kyle laughed at him...which was all too often. “What do you mean?”

“People _pirate_ movies, fatass. You didn’t have to fucking rent a movie from _iTunes,_ I could get you the same movie in HD, for free, in like, a minute online,” he shook his head, reaching for his phone. “God, you’re so fucking dumb.”

_“Kyle,”_ he glared. “People rely on the film industry for an income...people make money off of those movies, it’s not fair to take that away from them.”

“You really think the ten dollars you just shitted away on a movie is going into anyone’s pockets?” Kyle laughed. “You think that’s doing anyone any good? Give a homeless guy twenty bucks, he’s still sleeping in a cardboard fucking box that night.”

“It wasn’t ten dollars…” Eric murmured.

“How much?” Kyle mused, taking a long drag. “How much did you spend on that movie, Cartman?”

That was another thing Eric hated. “Cartman”. The “E” that Kyle had worn around his neck ever since they were kids stood for “Eric”. He knew his name was “Eric”. He knew Eric _hated_ being called “Cartman”. He _knew._

“It was…” he sighed. _“...$14.99.”_

_“15 fucking dollars,”_ Kyle sneered and Eric unlatched his arms. “God, you’re so stupid, it’s almost _cute.”_

“It’s cute?” Eric asked.

“Yeah,” Kyle smiled, ashing his cigarette back onto the stand. “You know, whenever I say I’m gonna ‘fuck you stupid’, I don’t mean it in the literal sense, but...you’ve always been real obedient for me, haven’t you?”

“I guess so,” he laughed wearily. “You just get me that way.”

“And I really wouldn’t have you any other way,” Kyle mumbled. “What’d you rent? I swear, if it’s another Jessica Sarah Parker movie, I’m gonna be flacid for the next ten years.”

_“The Notebook,”_ Eric blushed. He hooked his arms back around Kyle’s neck, scooching further up his lap. “It’s so romantic, Kyle, my mom and I watched it last week and I—”

_“The Notebook?”_ Kyle sneered. “God, chubby, I didn’t come over here to watch gay bullshit with you and Mama Cartman.”

“Kyle, I love this movie,” he insisted. “It’s so sweet and romantic and...and sentimental, I missed you the entire time I was watching.”

“Because we’re so in love and the whole world wants to keep us apart and it’s _destiny?_ Is that it?”

“Because I love you and I wanna be able to watch a romantic movie with you,” Eric glared. “Is that so wrong?”

“Nah. It’s kinda cute. But it’s not happening.”

“What do _you_ wanna do then?” Eric resigned. “I made us a romantic dinner and thought we’d just watch a movie and cuddle, and…”

“Dinner sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” Eric smiled. “I did some research on this kosher site and found your—”

_“—after.”_

“...after?”

“What do you fucking _think,_ “after”?” Kyle rolled his eyes. He left his cigarette on the nightstand, hands flying down to the zipper of Eric’s jeans.

_“Kyle…”_ his mumbled. “Can’t we wait until later?”

“No, I _can’t_ fucking wait,” he said. Kyle didn’t hesitate or waste any time once he’d reached a decision; he flipped Eric down onto his back with a soft thud against the sheets, hovering over his body. “I was stuck at that stupid, fucking party for hours, I _need_ this.”

“I...know it’s hard for you...” Eric sighed. He wanted to stay mad, really. He wanted to be angry with Kyle; he’d planned an entire evening for them, only for it to be reduced to more _meaningless_ sex. Every now and then Kyle would remind Eric he loved him, but what was sex without tender sexless moments? What was love without going for walks, holding hands and kissing under the stars and kissing in the _rain;_ where were _Eric Cartman’s_ 365 letters and soft, summer days where they just enjoyed each other’s company? Where was that? Eric wanted that from Kyle so badly, he could almost taste it. The moment Kyle had him pinned like that, those thoughts evaporated from his mind and he lost all sensibility. “I know it’s tough…”

“It is, it’s real fucking tough,” Kyle grinned. He stared downward at Eric like he were a piece of meat, and Eric wanted to resent him for it. “So why don’t you do me a favour and loosen up a bit?”

“Oh...okay.”

Kyle unbuckled his jeans, reaching down and pulling at Eric’s. “Doesn’t this feel so much better than watching your faggy little movie?”

“Yeah…” Eric felt the lump in his throat grow. “Yeah, I...I _missed_ you today…”

“Yeah, you missed me, didn’t you?” Kyle asked. He had Eric’s pants around his thighs, as he reached for the hem of his boyfriend’s XL sweater.

“I did,” Eric giggled, and he was back to being under Kyle’s spell. “I really missed you, Kyle…”

“I know,” Kyle laughed, leaning down and pressing their lips together. “Now isn’t this so much better than cuddling?”

“I...yeah, it is.”

“Exactly,”  he sneered loudly, reaching for something on his belt. Eric saw a flash of light and recognized it as something metallic. A blade. “So, I know you had plans for tonight, but I had a few ideas of my own.”

“Wh- _What?”_ Eric frowned. “Kyle, is that—”

“Yeah, tubby,” Kyle grinned, dangling the blade over Eric’s face. “Rebecca’s a whore, but y’know...she was going on tonight about some dude from North Park who fucked her up and they tried out knifeplay and I thought...well, I know you wouldn’t like it if I was making rounds with the Cotswold bitch, so maybe fatty and I could get it on.”

_“Kyle,”_ he hissed. “That’s unsafe!”

“That’s the fucking point, asshole,” Kyle laughed. “Now open up and shut up.”

“You’re gonna _stab_ me?” Eric hesitated. He’d never felt this panicked with Kyle. With other people, but never Kyle. Sure, Kyle was aggressive in bed, but he’d never taken things to _this_ extent. “Kyle, _please,_ I love—”

“Holy fuck, relax, baby,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “What, am I gonna pop a hole in my sex-doll?”

“I’m not a sex-doll, I’m your boyfriend,” Eric snapped. “I don’t wanna do this!”

“You don’t wanna fuck anymore?”

_“No!”_ he struggled beneath Kyle. He was holding the knife as if it were a toy and it made Eric anxious. He tried pushing him away, but it only provoked Kyle further. “Not when you’re bringing weapons into it!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Kyle scoffed, locking his thighs around Eric’s waist. He was teasing him. Holding the knife close to his face and pressing its shiny blade down against Eric’s lips. “It’s a _pocket knife,_ and it’s the one you got for me. It’s barely even a weapon.”

“It has a blade,” Eric took the risk and swatted Kyle away, wriggling beneath him. “God, please put it _away.”_

“You’re such a fucking pussy.”

“Kyle, _get off me!”_

Kyle narrowed his eyes, holding the knife between his teeth and crawling off of Eric. He shook his head, tossing the knife back onto the mattress and climbing off the bed. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Eric sat up, feeling a few hot tears form in his eyes. He wiped them away immediately; no, he refused to be sad this time. No, this time, he was _angry._ He wanted to scream and throw things, but he never threw things. He wanted to stay dignified. He wanted Kyle to listen for once in his life and to make the effort to hear him out. “Kyle—”

“What the fuck was all _that_ for, Cartman? Huh?” he snapped. “I come over here to get my dick sucked and suddenly you’re a prude all over again?”

“Have you ever considered that sometimes, I just wanna spend _time_ with you?!” Eric glared, hopping down off the bed. “That I just wanted a nice evening together? That I wanted to sit back and cuddle and just sp—”

“I’m not that kind of ‘boyfriend’, fatass,” Kyle hissed, closing in on him. “You want me to prance over with fucking flowers, and, and to curl up with you in bed and watch a romantic movie and then cuddle and talk about our dreams? It’s not gonna fucking happen. It’s never gonna fucking happen!”

“Shut up,” he murmured, voice catching in his throat. “Just spending time together shouldn’t be so difficult.”

“You know that ridiculous, fucking movie you just paid 15 bucks for? That’s not real life, Cartman. That’s not how it works.”

“If you love me,” Eric frowned. “You’ll put in the effort for me. You’ll put in the extra effort for _us.”_

“Look at the world around us, babe,” he sneered. “What’d we do yesterday night?”

He shrugged. “We...we went to Fairplay.”

“And why’d we go to Fairplay, _babe?”_ Kyle spat.

“To...well, because,” Eric’s voice wavered. “Because you guys were...you guys were negotiating—”

“We weren’t negotiating shit, you know what we did yesterday?” Kyle snorted, pulling up his sleeve, to reveal the ten large stitches Eric had sewn up for him after the previous day’s fight. “I got _this_ when some fucking cunt from Fairplay _stabbed_ me in your little ‘negotiation’.”

“I—”

“Look at the world around us, Cartman. This isn’t _The Notebook._ This place is a fucking wasteland and we’re living in it,” Kyle barked. “You can’t take a little pocket knife in bed, what do you think the rest of the world’s gonna do to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’ll chew you up and spit your fat ass right back out again,” Kyle shook his head. “Stop romanticizing everything. That isn’t us. That’s not you and me. We weren’t ‘meant to be’, we weren’t pulled together by destiny. This isn’t a fucking movie, and we aren’t gonna kissing in the rain any time soon, move on. This is the real world. This is our life. _This_ is our relationship. Just accept it.”

He was ready to accept it.

All he had to do was nod and get back under Kyle and they could continue the evening. It wouldn’t even be so bad...he loved Kyle, despite their fight that evening, Kyle made him feel safe. He protected him from the harassment and scrutiny of others and still spent all of his free-time with Eric, despite his friends’ disgust and parents’ disapproval. He’d gut someone alive if they made the slightest comment about Eric Cartman.

And yet, he couldn’t just sit back for one evening and watch a stupid, fucking, romantic movie with him.

He was ready to accept it, but he didn’t. Not this time.

_“No.”_

Kyle almost thought he’d misheard him. “What?”

“I...said... _no,”_ Eric murmured. “No, Kyle. _No.”_

“No, _what?”_

“No, I’m not just gonna accept it,” he spoke simply. “I don’t think _any_ of this is too much to ask for.”

“Babe, you’re living in a fucking fantasy world, if you think—”

“I just wanted to spend tonight with you and I had everything planned out and then you pull a knife on me in bed, Kyle,” he snapped. “Well, why can’t we just _try?”_

“That’s where you want all your effort to go to?” Kyle laughed. “You’re this upset over dinner and a _movie.”_

“It’s not about dinner and a movie!” he hissed. “It’s about you! You don’t care about my feelings! It always has to be your way! I just wanna spend time together, I don’t care about whatever world you think we live in. I love you enough to try.”

“You know what, tubby?” Kyle sneered. “You’re lucky I even stick my dick in a fat little bitch like you; I can have any fucking girl I want and you think you’re at a disadvantage? Grow the fuck up, Cartman.”

_That_ stung. “You’re treating me like I’m stupid. I’m not stupid. I already _know_ all of that, I still _try_ for you,” he glared. “I _know_ you could have anyone you want and I _know_ the world is dangerous and it’s hard and—”

“Then accept that this is the card we’ve been dealt and that’s how it’s gonna be,” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “You’re pretty fucking lucky to have me around. I’ll wrap my arm around you in public and I let you clean my wounds and I fuck you every single damn day and you still have to go finding shit to complain about.”

“I love you, Kyle, I just want more than a sexual relationship!” Eric balled up his fists. “I just want more from you!”

“I have given you _more_ than you’ve _ever_ fucking deserved from me,” Kyle seethed, a dark look passing over his eyes. "After everything I’ve done for you, protecting your pathetic, _helpless_ fat ass, _sparing_ you every damn chance I had, back in the day...oh _baby,_ if it weren't for me you'd be starving; you’d be working the corner just like that whore you call a mother. And that’s only if you’d even made it that long! Charity drives, faggy little Christmas sweaters, _cuddling_ in _public._ You’d have been dead by the first fucking _grade,_ without me. Everything I’ve done for you, and this is how you return my graciousness,” he laughed. “Past six years of my life and I wasted every single fucking day of them on you.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you,” Eric shook his head. He couldn’t look Kyle in the eye. “Is that too much that I’m asking for?”

“Maybe it is,” Kyle shrugged. “Maybe you should find someone else to act out all your faggy little fantasies with.”

“What are you saying?” Eric’s voice filled with concern. “Kyle—”

“It means I’m breaking up with you,” Kyle snapped. “It means you’re all on your fucking own now. No more of this bullshit. No more of me looking out for you and protecting you, no more big scary Kyle, you’re on your own. If _this_ isn’t what you want then, fine. Leave.”

He could only blink. “Kyle, I—”

“Actually, yeah, do that. I think I need a little fucking space,” Kyle spat. “Go cry to your mommy about it, ‘cause baby, we’re _through.”_

Eric knew what Kyle was waiting for. He was waiting for him to go “I’m sorry”. He was waiting for “Please, don’t leave me”. He was waiting for “I need you”, so that they could fall back into the same old pattern and Kyle could fuck him to death, in more than one _way;_ he was waiting for Eric’s surrender.

“Why?” Eric asked. “You wanna break-up after _one_ big fight? After all we’ve been through together?”

“You’re so unhappy, _Cartman?”_ he scoffed. “Let’s get it over with already.”

His last chance. His last chance back in again.

He stared back at Kyle and knew he was waiting for an apology. He was waiting on Eric’s metaphorical “white flag” of surrender because that’s what Kyle was conditioned to. Eric narrowed his eyes and took a step back.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Let’s just get it over with.”

He didn’t _take_ his last chance.

Kyle furrowed his brows. “Let’s get _what_ over with?”

“You dumped me,” Eric muttered. “So just go home.”

“Go, _home?”_ Kyle laughed. “You’re telling _me_ to go home.”

“You broke up with me, Kyle, _get out!”_

“Do you even realize what you’ve just done?!” Kyle snapped. “Do you even _know_ how many girls are after me, tubby? And you wanna throw this away because you’ve decided to be a fucking prude tonight?”

“Shut up, just _shut up,_ Kyle!” he yelled. “You’re the one who dumped _me!”_

“And rightfully so,” Kyle hissed. “I’m the only fucking reason you’re still alive. _Me!_ I’m the one who looks out for you around this fucked up town, Eric, I’m the _only_ one!”

“I don’t care,” Eric snapped. “I don’t _care,_ Kyle!”

“You don’t _care?_ You don’t think you’re _irreplaceable?”_ Kyle laughed, his tone dripping with hostility. “It’ll take me _one_ fucking text message, babe. I bet Rebecca Cotswold is free tonight and I don’t need your fat ass getting in the way.”

That was enough.

The final blow.

The coup de gras.

It was an impressive enough feat that he’d held it all together for so long; Eric swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, his voice a mere whisper.

_“I don’t wanna see you ever again.”_

Eric turned on his heel, leaving a stunned behind a stunned Kyle. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he asked, following him down the stairs. “Cartman, this is _your_ house!”

“Don’t call me that!” he screamed reaching for his familiar red jacket and pulling the door open. It was late and dark and the whole world felt too silent, as Eric stormed down his own sidewalk, wanting _anything_ but to be near Kyle in that very moment. “God, just _go away!”_

Kyle’s fists shook with rage, before he reached for the pendant around his neck, throwing it back in Eric’s direction. “Then, take this. Ugly ass symbol of our “eternal love”; I got no _use_ for it.”

The tears were coming. It’d be any time soon, now. “I gave this to you—”

“Yeah, six years ago. _Take it,”_ Kyle hissed. “Means _nothing_ to me anymore.”

“I hate you,” Eric whispered, scooping up the discarded pendant from its place on the ground. “I never wanna see you again. I really mean it, I _never_ wanna see you _ever_ again.”

“Maybe you won’t,” Kyle narrowed his eyes, enclosing on Eric. “You won’t last a _day_ without me.”

“I’d rather find that out on my own.” He turned away, pushing past Kyle, fingers clumsily locked around the pendant and all it had represented. It’d meant Kyle loved him before their very first kiss, it’d meant he was loyal to him before he’d even known Kyle was in love and it’d meant that he was the one Kyle was fighting for. He’d worn that pendant every single damn day for the past six years and now it was clutched between Eric’s hands.

“Fine!” Kyle called, not bothering to chase after him. “But don’t come back to me crying!”

He ignored him. He wanted to run away; get the hell out of that place, that town, that world. Eric finally broke; he’d hit his limit for real this time, tears streaming down his cheeks. How had a simple disagreement turned toxic, so _quickly?_ One half of him wished he’d just let Kyle carry on, the other half of him was exhausted. Was it really too much that he’d expected of someone who _claimed_ to love him? Claimed, he’d protect him? Claimed his heart belonged to him, _solely?_

But Kyle didn’t care. It’d been six years and still, nothing had truly changed. It was as if things slowly and just _barely_ improved and then they were back to square one again, somehow. He didn’t want a static relationship anymore. He wanted to be in love with Kyle and not feel as though he was forbade from caring for him, any longer. It was unfair to himself and his heart and he’d had to carry all that hurt for far too long.

The full moon hung in the sky, unobstructed by clouds on that very night. Cartman wiped away the hot, _pathetic_ tears from his cheeks, as Stark’s Pond came into view. For every single part of him, that was furious and _hated_ Kyle Broflovski, there was a part of him that loved him and wanted him to run to him and apologize and kiss him under the stars, but like he’d said — that wasn’t real. That wasn’t Kyle. That kind of love wasn’t in Kyle’s nature.

“God,” he choked, shaking his head. _“God. God,_ I _hate_ him.” Yet, he still had that same old scarf wrapped around his shoulders. The one Kyle had given him, back in junior high, still fairly early into their relationship.

_If you’re that fucking cold, just take this._

That’s what he’d said to him. That he hated the colour anyway, and Eric could have it. Kyle showed his love in the most unconventional ways _possible._

Not anymore.

It wasn’t even that cool out. It was the end of summer. He only wore it because it reminded him of Kyle.

Eric wiped his eyes, a wave of anger washing back over him.

_You won’t last a day without me._

With all his might, Eric squeezed the pendant, then unclenching his fist and throwing it into the pond. He watched it sink into the water and the moonlight ripple over the pond, going on and on and on…

_“I don’t need you anymore,”_ he wiped a hand across his cheek. There was no point in crying about something when it was already over.

Until he was hit with a wave of guilt.

Kyle had come to him first, back when they were kids.

He’d rescued him when no one else cared.

He had trouble accepting he was in love with a boy.

And yet, he’d worn that pendant around his neck, even _before_ they’d gotten together. He wore it around as a representation of his love for Eric. He _loved_ him. He’d put himself out there first and Eric tossed it all away. He could still remember the very day Kyle had asked him to etch a big, _shameless_ “E” into the deep blue stone.

And Stan and Kenny had thought it was for some girl. _Ha._

Instantly, he was overcome with regret.

“No,” he panicked. “No, no, _no.”_

Eric pulled off his scarf, draping it over the park bench. He’d hate himself if it got wet, or dirty. “What have I _done?”_

He wasn’t worried about his clothing or getting wet or how cold Stark’s Pond was at night or even how deep or dark it was. He needed Kyle’s pendant; he’d _die_ if he didn’t get it back. He put the crying on hold and waded into the pond, ignoring the cool sensation that washed over his body.

“God, he’s right,” Eric’s voice caught. “I’m so stupid. Why’d I do that, I’m so _stupid.”_ Kyle was right. He wouldn’t last a _day_ without him.

So Eric waded deeper, feeling the water rise up to his chest. He dove underwater, feeling around for something, _anything_ resembling a pendant. It was murky and he could barely swim and his mind was as clouded as the swampy water. He’d been lighting candles and googling kosher recipes and cooking dinner and picking out the movie and then Kyle came over and they’d been sitting in bed and then he’d pulled the knife and they fought and broke-up and _then_ what, how’d it all gone downhill so damn _fast?_ Six years and it was over like _that?_

He wanted Kyle back, but Kyle had broken-up with _him._ Not the other way around. Maybe if he’d begged…

And now he was in too deep; he held his breath, as the water was _way_ over his head. He couldn’t see a thing and the pendant was lost forever and he and Kyle were through. He wanted to cry, but the water only swallowed up his tears. If he died like this, that’d be it. That would have been his very last conversation with Kyle and it was a fight. His head was swarming and everything was wrong.

And then, by some miracle, it was as if the moonlight had pierced through the water. The pendant came into clear sight and Eric’s eyes widened. He kept on holding his breath, and swam down deeper, reaching desperately for that same piercing blue, struggling to swim faster, as if drifted out of his grasp.

The world flipped upside down and he could feel himself losing consciousness. The water sucked and dragged him down and everything felt light; he was going to pass out. Had it really been that long? Had he really been under _that_ long?

The light got brighter and brighter and Eric’s hands locked around the pendant, as he went the world spun out of control. He was being transported to the surface, crossing over the moonbeam and into what felt like a dream; and he was swimming, _spiralling,_ through syrup. The water was breathable and yet, thicker than air; there was a final flash of light and it was all over; Kyle’s pendant was clutched around his fingers and Eric felt himself gasp, as he finally surfaced. He felt like he was falling and the stars danced overhead, and he was _back;_ he was surfacing, the water evaporated beneath him and the world had flipped onto its side.

He took a long, laboured breath and opened his eyes to starlight, the moon twinkling up at him from the sky.

He opened his eyes and the whole world changed.

He opened his eyes and _everything_ changed.

He opened his eyes and nothing would _ever_ be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lai wrote this gem within a week of us deciding to write this fic, she’s the real mvp  
>  **Sail**
> 
> ♡♡♡
> 
> the idea of this fic is to bring together a canon-type dynamic (but aged-up) kyman dynamic and mix it w/ a popular fanon au. that's when things get messy. and that'll be the third chapter. hope you're enjoying so far ♡  
>  _lai._


	3. An Unexpected Intersection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle and Eric get a taste of life without each other; Kyle from the other side of the mirror gets a little taste of something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this is late! we were both extremely busy this week.

Kyle examined his pocket knife. Sprawled out on the bed, his unzipped pants and the faintly flickering candles around the room were the only indications of that night’s events. He replayed Eric’s words, again and again, fixating on how Eric’s face got red and his eyes brimmed with tears. How did he end up with such a pussy, can’t-take-a-little-knife-in-the-bedroom, fatass hanging on his arm?

Damn Goody-two-shoes had effectively killed his hard-on. What the hell was his problem? The fatass had been acting like they were starting off again; back when Eric squirmed and pushed him away each time Kyle touched him under the belt. He had been patient then; Eric always needed a bit more time with things, but this time Kyle’s patience had been pushed to its limit. Where did that prude get off on, making _dinner_ and wanting to watch some weak-ass idealistic _romcom_ ? It was like Eric didn’t even realize what world they were living in. Didn’t even appreciate the sheer magnitude of things Kyle did for him every damn day. How was he not doing enough? He fucked him. He paid for what Lianne couldn’t afford. He kept that naive pacifist _alive_ for over six long years. And for what? A lame ass cuddle session where they told each other their deepest, darkest secrets? As far as Kyle was concerned, Eric might just as well have suggested doing each other’s hair and performing a ribbon dance in front of what was left of City Hall.

Kyle took a long inhale of his cigarette and exhaled in a scornful huff, as that infernal phrase repeated itself.

_“No”._ The word sat in the air, thick as concrete, heavy on his ears.

He said ‘No’. He _never_ said ‘no’. _Nobody_ said ‘no’ to Kyle, not anyone that wanted to keep living with all their limbs at least. That’s what came with being the biggest threat in all of Park County, everyone knew their world and everything in it was for the Jewish prince’s taking, no questions asked. But what does a man want for when he has everything? This man desires the only person he had ever felt any inkling of affection for in his seventeen years on this forsaken planet, that’s what. The only thing he wanted had just run out of his bedroom to God-knows-where and it pissed Kyle off.

He groaned, rolling off of the bed to pull his pants up. Holding his nearly spent cigarette in between clenched teeth, he shoved his boots on, stomping to secure them. Tugging his arms through the holes in his orange jacket vest, he wondered momentarily about the practicality of a jacket vest in _August_. He kept it mostly for the versatile accessibility of torso pockets. He knew instinctively what he kept in each pocket. In the right, a small makeshift first-aid kit which he restocked on nearly a weekly basis. In the left, a small flashlight and a multi-tool Eric bought for Kyle when they were thirteen in preparation for his first raid. Kyle never left the house without his vest, too much of a risk. The multi-tool weighed on his chest. The item itself held no significant mass but, for a brief instant, it felt as heavy as a bag of bricks.  

Shaking off the feeling, Kyle made a parting pass around the room, putting out the candles one by one, snubbing his cigarette butt in the final candle by the door. Fatass could have burned down the whole house, leaving those candles behind.

Irresponsible, add that to the list. Eric Cartman: fatass, pussy, prude, irresponsible.  

***

“Fatass couldn’t have gone far…” Kyle murmured under his breath, scanning the deserted neighborhood for the unmistakable outline of his _ex_ -boyfriend. With his knife held open at his side, concealed in his sleeve, Kyle started down the dimly lit street. The further he got from the main road, the less illuminated it became, as increasingly the streetlamps were dark, shattered artifacts of raids long since past. He didn’t dare to call out, he had risked his life too many times for that asshole he wasn’t even involved with anymore. Like hell, he was going to chance an unwanted encounter with an enemy tonight. 

Despite his better judgment, Kyle found himself near Stark’s Pond, the only light being his third cigarette and the reflection of the full moon on the dark water. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a subtle movement and tensed, gripping his knife tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. Kyle squinted into the milky darkness of the fog to make out the source of the sudden movement, his heartbeat jumping up a few BPM. There, billowing softly, snagged on the old water-side bench was the unmistakable outline of Eric’s scarf. Kyle suppressed a sudden pang in his chest. He would have preferred it be the first signs of premature lung cancer than admit the true source of the pain.

Instinctively, his hand reached to his neck, momentarily surprised to find his grip held nothing but air. Oh. Right. Fatass took it back. Kyle’s hand made a slow and empty journey back to his side, his harsh eyes, forged by years of strife, never leaving the ebb and flow of the scarf in the light wind. His silence gave way to a boiling rage akin to a pot of liquid nitrogen left at room temperature and began to boil over. Through the dark Kyle saw red, stomping over to the bench with a fixed glare. Moving to snatch at the scarf. In his haste, he miscalculated his arm’s arc. Along with the scarf came five of his stitches, liberated violently from the flesh in a moment. Kyle let out a panicked shout as his gash became exposed to the irritating fabric of his shirt. He could feel the wound seeping, soaking through his long sleeve. Heat moved up his arm to the beat of his pulse as he slammed the back of his knifed hand to his mouth, muffling any other sound.

Fucking dumbass, making him walk all the way out here, at the most dangerous hour, for what? Some ratty old _scarf?_ Scoffing, Kyle shoved the article in his pocket with force, turning sharply towards home. Eric had made it abundantly clear that he was no longer a concern of the pugnacious redhead. If the fat fuck wasn’t dead already, he could survive until morning without Kyle’s protection.  

Though he tended to sleep at Eric’s these days (better his sheets than Kyle’s, right?), Kyle found his hurried pace directing him towards 1002 instead of 28201. His room felt somewhat alien, after spending so little time in it. His clothes and weapons were still strewn loosely around the floor from the last time he had been called into action on a moment’s notice.

Kyle threw himself onto his unmade bed, forgoing taking off any of his ensemble in favor of lighting another cigarette. The menthols had a way of calming him, taking away an ounce of his paranoid demeanor for the brief moment each smoky breath filled his mouth.

Eric had once suggested he switch to vaping. _“It’s not smoke, it’s vapor. I heard it’s better for you”,_ he had assured Kyle. If there was something less likely than Kyle watching some weak-ass romance flick, it would be Kyle taking a puff off of one of those cotton candy flavored pussy sticks.

Kyle focused in on his next puff, seeking that familiar rush of nicotine in his bloodstream. But, where he typically felt the sweet release of the drug, he grasped only a foul and bitter ghost of that feeling. Must be a shitty leaf or something. Kyle kicked his boots off, snubbing out the cigarette. It was barely spent but he reached for another. The next cigarette tasted worse than the one before it. The smoke made his stomach feel something not entirely unlike the feeling he had the first time he smoked a cigarette, a queasy churning while his lungs screamed quietly for air. “Fuck it”, he spat, snubbing it out next to its former.

Too tired to do much more than lay back on his bed, Kyle did just that, ignoring the jolt of pain that shot up his half-stitched arm as it hit the mattress.

“Fucking idiot…” he mumbled, pulling his sheets up over his shoulders. Gripping the knife under his pillow as always, waiting in the dark for the semi-comforting nothingness of sleep.

Despite his exhaustion, Kyle found his brain wandering. An unpleasant stream of thoughts crossed his mind, eliciting feelings he typically only felt in enemy territory.

Was his pillow always this lumpy? What was that noise? Probably nothing. But then why was it so quiet all of the sudden? Those North Park kids are getting better at undercover work.

He tossed as much as one could with an injured arm, knife still firmly grasped, as he tried to calm his typically rapid heart rate and shake the feeling of a million imaginary eyes on him. It had been a long while since Kyle had slept in his own bed, even longer since Kyle had slept _alone_ . Ugh, why was he thinking about that fat fuck? Eric had left _him._ As if Kyle was the one who needed Eric. _But…_

Kyle couldn’t help but notice little shifts. The bed felt disconcertingly empty and cold without the comforting weight of Eric beside him. The room felt disconcertingly silent without Eric’s routine “goodnight” or the white noise of the larger boy’s deep sighs turned snores. Kyle could feel his heartbeat alone, as direct and intense as his own aura.

It took Kyle almost until the sunrise for the beginnings of sleep to creep into his consciousness, blurring his inhibitions and softening his flight or flight instinct, until finally, his eyes decided to abandon their lookout in favor of an uneasy rest.

 

* * *

 

When Eric came to, he had been washed ashore. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes, or maybe it had been longer. It certainly looked darker out here, but that could have been attributed to the lack of stars in the sky. The sky here was nearly polluted by suburban light, save for a few of the brighter stars. It sparkled with a few minuscule diamonds, but the horizon was a lighter shade of blue. The South Park _this_ Eric Cartman knew, was nearly barren. Nobody wanted to live in a drugged-up, gang-infested shithole mountain town like that. But this place was slightly different and at first, he only blamed it on his disorientation.

Rubbing his eyes in a poor attempt to wake himself up, Eric realized he was still clutching fervently onto Kyle’s pendant. Not even the nasty pond water could wear off the ‘E’ sketched onto it. That was there for good. He’d loved the way it looked around Kyle’s neck. He walked around town with that thing knocking back and forth across his jacket. It was always at the forefront. Eric wondered if that had been 100% intentional or just a _lot_ of happy accidents,

That was when the tears returned.

He had realistically _no_ idea how he’d gotten back here. It wasn’t windy that night. There were no waves. In his feverish state, he’d briefly imagined, more or less _hoped_ that Kyle had been the one to save him. Had he reached into the pond and taken his hand and pulled him up to safety, maybe they could be happy again, but Eric was alone. There was absolutely no one in sight. If Kyle _had_ saved him, he’d abandoned him here, cold and shivery and achy, with hot tears streaming down his cheeks like the “baby” Kyle was always reminding him he was.

He wiped his cheeks with a sigh. He had no choice. He’d have to call someone for help; despite it all, Kyle was right. It wasn’t safe for him out there and especially so late and in such a vulnerable state. But when he reached for his phone, he was immediately met with a sinking gut feeling.

It was _broken._ Water-logged. He knew that if he let it sit in a bowl of dry rice for a few days, that would be an easy fix...according to all those craft videos; but inspecting the phone himself, it was so beyond repair. Now, he had no way to call his mother or even _Kyle._ Those were the only two people in his life he relied on. He wasn’t even sure if his mother was home that night.

And then came the guilt again. This was one of, if not, the most dangerous towns in the world. Just _being_ with Eric put Kyle at further risk. And he did it regardless because he loved him. He didn’t want to doubt himself or his decision to leave, but slowly that was becoming more and more easy to do, when he thought about Kyle and clutched harder onto his pendant; the cool stone leaving a soft indent in the palm of his hand. Kyle had worn that for six long years. It belonged around his neck. Not in Eric’s palm. His heart clenched.

He sighed and made his way to Kyle’s house.

There was something very odd about this situation.

This Eric Cartman knew his town _very_ well. He never explored without Kyle, but he recognized every part of it, even in the dark. It wasn’t that it felt all that different immediately, but something about it was now... _fuller._ It felt more compact. Walking around his South Park at night, you were sure to run into a pack of bloodthirsty teenagers, huddled around a flaming barrel, splitting cigarettes and breaking beer bottles to sharpen into jagged makeshift shivs. But it was just... _silent..._ save for the distant sound of traffic over on the highway, which still felt odd and vaguely uncomfortable, instead of comforting like it should have been. Civilization was comforting, but the town that Eric Cartman had come to know lived separately from civilization for a reason: no one there _was_ civil. Highway sounds were few and far between. This was abnormal, but he blamed it on paranoia. Everything was different without Kyle.

His heart pounded in his chest, as he turned onto their street. He was still clutching onto Kyle’s pendant. Eric unfolded the chain from his hands, slipping it over his head instead. Assuming Kyle would be ready to make up, he could give it back within a few moments.

There was scuffling from behind him.

Eric felt the lump that had already formed in his throat throb. His hand automatically flew to the pocket knife Kyle made him carry; the one shoved into the pocket of his sweater. Kyle had actually wanted him to carry a gun instead because a knife could easily be stolen and used against him, but he made sure Eric had a knife just as a precaution.

He turned around hesitantly, unsure whether the dampness he felt beading across his forehead was from the pond water or sweat. _Fear._ Kyle’s house was close enough, assuming he’d already headed home. A few hours must have passed; Eric was unsure of _how,_ but it was much darker now. He could risk it and make a mad dash for the Broflovskis’, but Eric Cartman without Kyle Broflovski was the _perfect_ target in South Park and he knew that without Kyle to protect him, he’d be dead within seconds.

“I...have a _knife…”_ he winced, squinting and reaching for his pocket. A shadow dashed across the street and he jumped back, startled, before realizing it was much too _small_ to be a person. Eric bit his lip, hesitantly stepping forward to get a good look.

What he’d assumed to be a blood-lusting sociopath, was a rabbit. The moment he tried getting closer, it bounded off in the other direction, sprinting towards the Marshs’ lawn. He laughed nervously, letting out a deep breath of relief and continued on his way to Kyle’s, a few houses down. Eric remained on his toes. He was still in imminent danger— no matter what— but he did take solace in the fact that his supposed challenger had only been a timid bunny.

The Broflovkis’ house loomed ahead of him. Eric felt his breath catch and heart pulse. He’d been so _angry_ just a while ago and now he was _scared_ that Kyle wouldn’t welcome him back. What if he really _had_ invited Rebecca over? They could have been sprawled out in his bed with their lips locked and her hands tangled through his hair by then. He felt nauseous just imagining it.

Every step up the walkway to Kyle’s door felt weighted. _Heavy._ He wasn’t sure he could do it, but he missed him so _badly,_ even after their fight. He knew Kyle was an addiction he just couldn’t quit at that point in their relationship, but he also did good things for him. He was certain. Certain that Kyle had learned his lesson or maybe he hadn’t, but he wanted him back either way.

It was a bad idea to knock on his front door, but without a phone, he had no choice. He’d contemplated throwing a stone against his window, but he didn’t want to cause an accident and he knew Kyle would assume that was some sort of warning or threat, so the door was his best option.

He waited a few moments hesitantly. The house was dead silent. Pitch black. He didn’t often see the Broflovskis’ home at night, because Kyle preferred to stay over at his, despite his house being one of the nicest in town. Eric didn’t know if this was normal or not, but it was eerie. He knocked again, suddenly fearing the worst...that Kyle had stormed off in their fight and abandoned his family or some North Park punks had gotten brave and decided to break in and do something terrible or that Kyle was _dead._ Kyle dying was always his biggest fear. He knocked a third time knowing it was risky, but he was shivering with anxiety.

Finally, a light turned on and he could hear the sound of footsteps padding down the stairs. His heart pounded; what if it wasn’t Kyle? What if it _was_ Kyle?

He braced for the worst. He braced for a biting lecture. This was it.

Kyle answered the door, but he looked different. For one, he was wearing pyjamas. Eric’s boyfriend usually slept shirtless with whatever boxers he had on, sometimes, none at all, especially on hot summer nights like this had once been. And he slept in his clothes if they were in the middle of a turf-war so he could be ready to go at any given moment, but this felt odd. He was wearing boxers, yes, but a printed T-shirt and socks, too. He could tell Kyle had been sleeping but his ushanka was still on, pulled over the wild auburn curls that peeked out beneath it. Kyle didn’t typically sleep with an ushanka on, but then again, it had been a weird night.

Maybe he was just as disoriented as Eric. Maybe he missed him. Maybe this was the big moment their relationship finally changed for the better.

_“What…?”_ Kyle murmured, rubbing his eyes. He was exhausted and slightly irate, but too tired to act upon it and so Eric’s eyes widened in delight. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t still _angry._

“Oh, _Kyle,”_ he sighed, stepping forward. “Kyle, we need to talk.”

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Like hell we do, it’s _3 AM!”_

It was sort of an odd thing for Kyle to say, considering how late he stayed up to go out on runs or whenever they stayed up ‘til the wee hours’ to do things Kyle’s parents would rather he be doing to a girl, and it was even weirder that Kyle had been able to sleep at _all_ considering how paranoid he was without Eric, but it only made him miss his boyfriend that much more. Maybe Kyle had been right about not needing him at all.

_“Kyle…”_ he hesitated. “Kyle, I’m—”

“You’re not even supposed to _be_ here,” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be _gone?”_

He frowned. So, he wasn’t over it. He should’ve known better by then; Kyle could hold a grudge like nobody else, maybe he just hadn’t expected it so soon.

_“What?”_ he frowned, the sheer coolness of the wind against his soaking sweater sending shivers down his spine. “I know we fought, but I came here to make amends. I just wanna talk to you, and then we can—”

“I think ‘fought’ is a massive understatement for all that we’ve done in the past...what, 16 or 17 years, Cartman, but whatever,” he sighed. Eric couldn’t read his mood. He didn’t look _angry._ He just looked annoyed. Calm, but annoyed. And still so _tired._ He was unsure what Kyle even meant, but he rubbed his eyes and continued. “I don’t know why you’ve suddenly had this huge revelation at like, 3 fucking AM, but I’m not in the mood.”

“I-I know...I know, and I’m sorry we fought, but...I just wanna,” he swallowed, trying desperately to hold back tears. “I just don’t wanna...I didn’t wanna be alo—”

“—why are you all wet?” Kyle’s eyes widened with something he vaguely recognized as concern. “Was it raining?”

“No,” he hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. “I fell into Stark’s Pond, and then—”

“At 3 AM,” Kyle deadpanned, but grabbed him by the arm, dragging Eric inside. “You’re such a moron.”

Eric bit his lip. He’d been expecting a lecture. ‘Moron’, he could settle for. “It was an accident. Kinda. I was looking for something.”

“At _3 AM?_ You know I was _sleeping?”_ Kyle sighed. He was digging through a cabinet in the dimly lit living room for a blanket, as Eric hesitantly hovered around the couch. He was rarely ever in the Broflovski house and it was especially unrecognizable with only one lamp switched on.

When Kyle turned around, he received a better view of him. That was his Kyle. He could recognize the silhouette; that was Kyle. He was certain; _that was Kyle._ What he was wearing was a bit out of place and he was acting extremely gracious considering their break-up, but that had to be him. Same overgrown red curls, piercing green eyes, stature and thin but toned frame...

He’d been staring.

Kyle narrowed his eyes. _“Cartman?”_

“Sorry, was I staring again?” Eric asked. “I’m sorry Kyle, I just missed you.”

He hesitantly made his way over to Eric’s side, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as if it were muscle memory...which it _was..._ but this was an odd situation. He hadn’t ever known Eric Cartman to be so docile. “You _missed_ me?” he scoffed. “Don’t be facetious.”

“What?” Eric blinked. “Kyle, I wasn’t being anything, I just missed you.”

“Yeah, sure,” he eyed him suspiciously. “You’re acting really, really weird.”

“Is it okay for me to be here?” he hesitated. He wasn’t used to being the Broflovskis’ house and Kyle even letting him in was very out of character. “We can just go back to my place.”

“Well, yeah, that was the plan,” Kyle murmured. “Walking back to your place.”

“So...you’re not mad?”

“What?” Kyle raised a brow. “I mean...I mean, I’m annoyed. I was asleep. But you’re all wet and shivery, I mean...I’m not just gonna abandon you. I _guess._ I mean, what other choice do I _have…”_

_“Really?”_ Eric softened. He could feel his heart clench but in a good way this time. He didn’t even care that Kyle was being so weird. He had a hand around Eric’s back and a blanket slung over his shoulders and he was going to take him back home. If he was being gracious enough to do all this, he’d probably be gracious enough to crawl back into bed with him when they returned and wrap his arms around Eric and they could cuddle until they fell asleep...or do _more_ than cuddle; he’d let Kyle do it that night just because he loved him and they’d barely been apart but he _missed_ him. That’s how he knew that it was real love.

“Oh, Kyle, that’d mean the _world_ to me.”

“Uh, yeah,” he murmured. There was something very distinctly odd about Cartman’s behavior that night, but he wasn’t _always_ the worst in the world, so he figured he could stay tentative and keep an eye on him, drop him back off and return home to get a few more hours of sleep. He was used to Eric Cartman’s bullshit at that point and it was just easier to take care of his problems than deny him and never hear the end of it.

Plus he was _pathetic_ and Kyle wouldn’t feel right just abandoning him. Or something like that.

_“Really?”_ Eric beamed, eyes wide with hope. “Oh, Kyle, I was so worried you’d still be angry. Oh, I’m so _relieved.”_

“Angry abou—”

“I’m so sorry I was unfair earlier, I just wanna be with you,” he trembled, taking Kyle’s hands. The other boy’s eyes widened and he shot Eric a look of confusion that went ignored. “Kyle, I take it back. I take it _all_ back. I was wrong, I just wanna be with you, it’s all my fault for pushing you away.”

“What the hell are y—”

Eric lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Kyle’s neck. Kyle briefly froze in confusion, eyes wide with shock as Eric leaned in for a kiss. He ducked and felt _Eric Cartman_ briefly drag his lips across Kyle’s left cheek. He had a few inches on Cartman, but his weight was the real threat; so he panicked and strained himself, pushing Eric away, then rising to his feet.

“What the _fuck?!”_

_“Cartman”,_ fell back against the couch, the blanket slipping from his body. He stared back up at the person he was still certain was his ex-boyfriend of only a few hours and felt his body tremble.

_“Kyle?”_

“I don’t know what the _hell_ that was, but it wasn’t funny,” Kyle snapped. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

“Kyle—”

“We’ve been getting along so _well_ lately and then you go and pull some weird kinda...kinda, bullshit _prank_ like that,” he muttered, concealing his cheeks.

“Kyle,” his breath caught. “I told you, I don’t wanna fight anymore, I’m sorry about our break-up, I just wanna get back together.”

“That’s it, I’ve tried being nice,” Kyle glared. “Get the hell out of here, Cartman, this isn’t funny!”

“But, babe—”

_“Don’t call me that!”_ he rubbed his eyes. Now he was 100% wide awake and the weirdness of the situation was too much for Kyle to handle.

“Kyle, _please_ just—”

“Get out!”

“Kyle,” he tried. “Can’t we just—”

“You tried _kissing_ me, get the hell out of here!” he barked. “Cartman, _go home!”_

“Kyle—”

_“Get out!”_

Eric’s throat bobbed and he nodded, wobbly standing up on his own and heading for the front door. His eyes blurred with tears, but staring back at Kyle, he wasn’t even looking in his direction. He had his face buried in his hands, turned around, but obviously mortified. That had to be it. That had to be it for them, then.

His hands felt fat and slippery, tugging at the doorknob, but he finally swung it open and dashed down Kyle’s front steps. Now, he was scared and confused. Everything was wrong. He was still wet and freezing, with tears streaming down his cheeks. How had Kyle been so right? He was nothing without him. He was weak.

So he supposed he’d just go home.

Home wasn’t far but it was the longest walk he’d even taken. Kyle usually walked him home. He usually walked home _with_ him. Home was usually _their_ final destination of the day. They’d go up to his cozy little bedroom and kiss or do _more_ than kiss and often, fall asleep together. But Kyle was living up to his promise. They were broken up and he wasn’t protecting him any longer. That was exactly what he’d told Kyle he wanted, yet everything felt distinctly wrong.

He reached clumsily for his keys, but the front door was already unlocked. Eric shook his head with a sigh; his mother _never_ left the door unlocked. At least not if anyone was home. That meant she must’ve been away for the night. Still, it was odd, but he was too sad to care.

He slipped inside and headed up the stairs, Kyle’s blanket no longer draped around his arms. It had been left behind at the Broflovskis’ when he hastily fled. He rubbed his eyes once more, half-heartedly tugging open the door to his bedroom. It wasn’t home without Kyle. The room was pitch black with all the candles having burnt out and the curtains drawn.

So, he slipped out of his damp clothing and into a hoodie he couldn’t remember leaving on the floor, steadying himself and crawling into bed. He let out a breathy sigh and felt hot tears trail down his cheeks. Fuck, Kyle was right. He had been conditioned to Kyle's protection. He was too soft. And he’d be nothing without him. And the saddest part was the immense comfort he felt the moment he was met with a waft of Kyle’s scent. It was a blanket and it smelled just like him. And yes, it was so _sad,_ but it was the only thing that was of any comfort to him that evening. It broke his heart but made him whole again.

And so, the Eric Cartman from the other side of the mirror held onto Kyle’s blanket for life and drifted off into a restless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really fun chapter to write. Also, how come fictional smoking is infinitely cooler than real life smoking?  
>  **Sail**
> 
> ♡♡♡
> 
> kyle sleeps with socks on  
>  _lai._


End file.
